


A Gentleman’s Gentleman

by Libby_Grief



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 19th Century, Angst, Canon Divergence - Time Travel, Constructive Criticism Welcome, England (Country), Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracies, I'm really trying, Love in strange places, M/M, Master Castiel, Memory Loss, Mild homophobia (with the time), More Chapters to Come, Mystery, Pride and Prejudice References, Rich Castiel, Servant Dean, Visions, Weird dreams shit i don't know, back in time, fake life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:58:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libby_Grief/pseuds/Libby_Grief
Summary: Castiel Novak is a man with extensive wealth and fortune, a man who is expected to conform to his role in society and a man who struggles very hard do so.Perhaps he's not a man at all?In early 19th Century England, Castiel is definitely considered 'odd'. At least he can confide in his gentleman's gentleman: Dean Winchester- an american who also doesn't fit into England's standards.But life begins to rapidly change for Mr Novak when visions and dreams plague his mind.How are you supposed to react when you dream of monsters, strange technology and flying with your very own pair of wings?





	1. Homeward bound

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything with a real story to it- so just know that I'm trying my best! All constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome and encouraged. I'm still improving A LOT as a writer.  
> If you would like more then please say so because then it might give me a real reason to continue. :)  
> Like i said, this is very different to anything I've ever done and i apologize is anything is historical inaccurate. 
> 
> Thanks for clicking!
> 
> \- Grief

In early 19th century England, there was a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. This was notion of which Castiel Novak never quite understood.

For as it turns out, by pure chance, he was one of these fortunate men and did possess a rather large fortune of his own- Having done so for as long as he can remember.

Although unable to recall the events fully himself, he would often hear the gossip of neighbours and the stories of servants speaking of the day his father, Charles Novak, known to friends as Chuck, disappeared. It’s become a sort of legacy, he supposes. One he struggles to live up to. The stories were often the first thing people would hear of him: how the young master had become tragically orphaned at only 4 years.

Family friends would speak fondly of his father but if he were to be deadly honest to them- which we was more often then not, he would tell them that he couldn’t even remember his father these days.

The circumstances left Castiel as a young boy with an excessive amount of money. More money than most people see in a life time. Normally, a boy with so much wealth and no parents for guidance would almost definitely grow up purely self-indulgent and big on ego- but not Castiel. He was left to be raised by a combination of servants, who in the long term, did a fine job of raising him. They taught him the importance of kindness, generosity and that no person was more or less important than another.

On top of his family of help, he was also home-schooled by several private teachers who educated him in English, maths, history, art and would take him to church every Sunday to learn of God. So despite him missing a father and never knowing of his mother, it’s safe to say Novak didn’t have a particularly painful childhood.

However still, Castiel would find himself rarely thinking back to his younger years and would even intentionally try to avoid doing so no matter what. It was a strange issue and hard for the man to put into words, but his memory’s always felt… ‘Hazed’ and would leave him with terrible headaches. He had seen several doctors about this condition but the result was always the same. The professionals would state that it must be the lack of parental figures in his life or his challenging childhood. The best remedy for an unrestful mind was of course: Prayer.

To get to the point; Castiel Novak had a very grand upbringing. But despite this lifestyle and his extensive wealth it had always seemed clear to him that he most certainly was NOT in want of a wife.

It’s not true to say that Mr Novak was incapable of getting a fine wife. Even if he had been a poor man, he was still blessed with handsome looks: dark locks, a sharp jaw line and blue eyes that pierce the soul. And he was neither thought of as cruel- in fact he was well known for his kindness and good will; making him all the more desirable. Some did think of him as perhaps a little odd, but it was an eccentric quirkiness that just added mystery to the package. Who was this mysterious, rich, dark haired man? He would hear women whisper in the streets.

No, the reason for his lack of a wife was not because he wasn’t enticing- If Novak was anything at all it would be enticing.

The fact was, Castiel just didn’t seem to understand why he supposedly needed a partner when he felt he already had a satisfying life without one. Why must he perplex his days by adding in new complications?

These were the thoughts that plagued the young man’s mind as he stared absentmindedly out of the polished window and to the front garden and beyond.

His NEW front garden- In front of his NEW house.

Only two nights prior, he had come out to the country. Seeking away from his bustling city life for a new one.

This ‘new’ life took form in a beautiful cottage styled mansion in a high-class country village. The house was old enough to have vines growing up by the windows- but was not yet too old to loose its charm.

It was perfect. The rooms were large and the furniture was grand- but the best part was the garden. The garden was magnificent, and stretched out for ackers; with wild flowers growing alongside fruit trees and even with a small stream towards the back with a mossy cobblestone bridge to cross it by. Castiel had never had such a beautiful garden when living in his busy London home and could see himself spending a lot of time there. However, currently, the garden wasn’t as magnificent as it could be. The lawn was littered with his old furniture from his previous house- looking rather strange in contrast to the rustic surrounding as a chaise lounge waited patiently to be moved in. This was to be Castiel’s first night in his new, unfamiliar home.

He wasn’t sure why a sick, anxious feeling began tumble in his stomach when he thought about sleeping in his new stupidly large bedroom tonight. Maybe it was because it was different and the house was old, maybe it was because the room was still uncomfortably bare except for the bed. Or maybe, it was both, plus the realisation that there was no turning back now. This was his home and Cas found himself silently praying that he wouldn’t miss London.

Being the master of a house meant a life of luxury. Mr Novak was no stranger to this life and had been waited on every day of his life since the day he was born. This concluded in him never having to do much for himself. So Castiel would be found most days lazing around his home with little purpose.

One of his hopes that made him move to the country was the promise to discourage this lazy habit. But worryingly, Novak could tell that indolently sitting and looking out of the window would soon develop into one of his favourite things. The glass panes looked out onto the front garden and onto the cobbled stone street just after it. Great for people watching.

Castiel sat with his back to the wall, perched on a large, low windowsill which had its own plush cushion built into the wood. This would be nice place to read or draw, he noted as he watched the burley men carry his furniture off the carriage and round to the side gate- heading to the back garden.

As much as he enjoyed people watching, he soon found himself drawn to watch the countryside’s birds and bees rather then the movers. He found it fascinating how they flew, swooped and buzzed their way through trees and over the fences of nearby houses- especially the bees. Bees were hard working and determined but also rather gentle unless pissed off- he felt similar in many ways. Or at least did once.

Recently, Castiel had been out of sorts. He felt troubled by an absence of… SOMETHING, it was unknown what. He had no idea why, but this horrible feeling that something was missing had overcome him in the recent months. Like an itch in the back of his mind that refused to be scratched. It was partly why he moved to the country in the first place- hoping that the new surroundings and fresh air would ease his mind. This was also something the Doctor had suggested.

Novak was pulled from his deep thoughts when his eyes spotted a particularly fuzzy bee which came up to the window to visit the varicoloured flowers potted beneath it. A lazy smile slipped onto his face as he watched the insect with fascination- marvelling at how graceful it seemed despite being slightly unsteady against the wind.

He began to imagine what it would be like if he were a bee. He could fly far away from women and men and… people. If only wings would sprout from his back… He shook his head lightly at himself, huffing a laugh at the absurdity of his thoughts. He considered what dangers he would face as a bee… He was sure it would be worth it.

Cast deep in his daydream, Castiel didn’t realise someone was talking and then calling his name until a soft hand fell onto his shoulder- making him jump. He whipped his head around, his cheek pressing against the wall he rested on, to see a familiar face. Giving a wary smile, he greeted the man with his gravely, bass voice. “oh… Hello Dean”

“Cas? Didn’t you hear me?” the young American man spoke back, his accent thick against Castiel own English one.

Dean Winchester was his gentleman’s gentlemen or ‘manservant’. Although, Dean had told him he didn’t like either name much. He waited on, cleaned and looked after him in almost every aspect you could imagine with only the help of one other servant and a cook. But besides all this, Dean had become a very close friend to Castiel… His only friend to be exact.

Cas had bought Dean in the strangest turn of events.

The man came knocking right on his door of his London home, begging for a job for him and his younger brother- in his twenties. At first Castiel refused, despite being drawn by the prospect of this strange man and further enticed by his accent and foreign manner he didn’t want any more servants. He had one already. And although this was an incredibly small amount based on his wealth- after being raised lovingly by many servants he had grown to somewhat dislike the idea of ‘owning’ humans. As if he were for some reason a better person then them just because he was born more fortunate.

But Dean had insisted, and when he had selflessly suggested that Mr Novak should just take his younger brother instead and had explained that he was trying to make money to send Sam to school and better his future… Well, Castiel was too pure of heart to refuse the man further.

This man wanted nothing more than for his brother to have the same opportunities in life that Castiel was lucky enough to have himself. This outlook resonated something inside of him. He offered to pay for Sam’s schooling there and then on the condition that Dean came and worked for him. The American was ecstatic and agreed to the terms immediately even when Castiel warned that this was not temporary and that he would have to work for him for as long as he were fit.

This was now over a year ago. Things had changed a lot since then. He and Dean had grown very close in this time and Castiel would always insist that the Winchester was no longer simply a servant- and that he was family. He would try to express that whatever he owned- was just as much Dean’s and his own. Dean would always laugh at that and just shake his head. Castiel never understood what was so funny, but would smile at the laughter all the same.   

Sam, Dean’s brother, would come to visit sometimes- he was doing very well in school and planned to work in law-

“Cas?!”

Castiel thoughts were interrupted once again by the sound of Dean’s voice and he was shot back to the present. He straightened himself back up nervously, shaking his head a little.

“I apologise Dean, were you speaking to me?” he asked with an apologetic tone, looking back up properly at Dean to show he now had his full attention. Castiel was notorious for spacing out, but this was a little extreme- even for him.

“man… What’s gotten in to you today?” the American asked in response, shaking his head fondly at his friend and letting a smile play on his lips before continuing with his sentence.

“I said: There are a lot of pretty, young women out there- do any take ya fancy?” he repeated, nodding towards the outside.

Mr Novak turned back to face the window just as an older rich couple walked past his front gate, followed by a gaggle of young women- their daughters no doubt.

“I don’t know… Should they?” he asked- trying to hide his obvious curiosity, peering across at the women as they strolled by. Castiel never was very good with social circumstances, he always felt like everyone else in the world was just _better_ at life than he was- another aspect of himself blamed on his lack of parentage.

Castiel Novak was a very odd young man.

Dean laughed at Castiel’s response as he moved away from the window and continued across the hall, carrying in one arm a box full of items yet to be unpacked. It was labelled ‘the masters clothes’. “Well they sure take mine!” he joked as he disappeared briefly into a room.

Castiel paused with a frown, thinking hard about an appropriate response before turning to look Dean’s way.

“Really?” he uttered, watching as the other man re-entered the hallway and realising that he sounded quite rude. He could see that his shock was unreasonable. Of course women would interest Dean- it would be odd if they didn’t. Cas just never seemed to think much of it… He didn’t like the image of his friend with one of the giggling women he had seen out of the window.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Cas, moving to stand by him. He positioned himself smartly, smoothing out his rugged shirt but didn’t stop himself from continuing with cocky sort of smile. It was no secret that he enjoyed teasing Cas.

“You really trying to tell me that NONE of those girls make you…” Dean trailed off, rubbing his forehead thoughtfully and chuckling at how weird this conversation was getting- How every conversation with Cas was a little weird in the good kinda way. He gestured vaguely up and down Castiel’s body- desperately trying not to say the obvious. “… Excited?”

Castiel had to think about that for a second- he frowned for a moment and wondered why he should feel elation when women are in his presence. He was just about to tell Dean that he didn’t understand what he was referencing until he slowly caught on to what he meant. Oh… Cas felt his cheeks warm as they turned a light pinkish colour, only to turn a darker red when his friend gave an even deeper chuckle at the sight. “Ah… I see… Winchester, your boldness will always surprise me.”

“I like to think of it as my ‘western charms’” The mousy haired man joked, giving him a wink and causing Castiel to not so subtly blush harder.

Mr Novak turned back to look out the window, seeing the women were now long gone. He considered what Dean had said- truly wondering for the first time how ‘excited’ he felt about women. He wasn’t too sure.

Many times Castiel had wished he could be more like Dean. Dean was bold and charismatic. He knew what he liked and would have no trouble getting it. But sex and women had always been such an alien concept. Perhaps if he could find a women who was good company… But the only persons company he ever really enjoyed was Dean’s.

“If you like them so much-” Castiel spoke up abruptly to his servant- who now had his back to him, crouched over another box. “- Why don’t YOU court one of them?” The retort came out bitterly and Cas felt surprised at himself for his tone. Dean either didn’t notice or elected to ignore it.

Instead he scoffed, glancing back briefly to Castiel who now looked directly at him.

“I can’t ‘court’ any of these women.” He responded in a matter-o-fact manner, perhaps with a matching edge of bitterness. He turned back and pulled a couple books out of the box.

“why not?” The inevitable question was asked innocently as Castiel watched Dean unpack- the thought never occurring to him until now that he could probably help Dean with his chore… “You’re a handsome man… Women would surly want to pursue you…”

Dean’s expression flickered between confusion and amusement as he slowly stopped his work and turned back around to stare at Castiel who watched him intently. “Ha… That’s… uh… nice of you Cas… but still isn’t really the point I’m making.”

When Cas looked less then convinced Dean sat round properly to explain.

“I’m a servant, Cas- I haven’t got money or status- I’m certainly not a ‘gentleman’” Gentlemen was said in air-quotations, Cas assumed this meant he believed these types of men were, despite their name, not very gentlemanly. “The women round these parts want men like that. Men like you.”

Castiel looked over at Dean for the longest time, contemplating his words. He briefly considered pointing out that the Winchester had, possibly by accident, called him ‘ungentlemanly’ but brushed this thought away when the realisation hit that he was indeed, probably the worst excuse for a gentleman he had ever met.

So instead he responded with a light shrug and muttered “Sounds rather unethical to me…”

Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head in some form of disbelief. “That’s just how it’s always been- Ha, I mean, what else would women marry for?”

Another stiff shrug was given in return as he answered with soft spoken words “I was under the impression that love was a factor…” Castiel began but then suddenly didn’t look to sure of himself- thinking maybe he was wrong “uh… Strong and happy love between to partners often leads to the marriage of either men or women…”

With a small sigh, Dean let a sweet smile dawn his face. It shocked him- amazed him even that a man with such pure and naïve morals still existed in this status built world. Never before had he met a Man who talked of love over wealth.

“You sound like a girl.” He japed, although it was somewhat true. Castiel spoke of relationships as if a hopeful women who was searching for prince charming and less like a rich, handsome, forward thinking man.

Another one of Castiel’s famous frowns appeared on his confused face “I fail to see how someone can sound different whether being male or female- unless, of course, you are referring to the pitch of my voice which I can assure you, is not at the pitch of your average woman’s…”

Dean laughed at that. Castiel Novak never understood how most of the things Dean would laugh at provided any humour at all, but seeing his eyes light up and his body be thrown back with the impulse always made him smile all the same.

“God Cas…” His servant muttered with what Castiel felt- hoped was affection. He couldn’t help but smile a little wider as Dean moved closer and placed a warm, calloused hand on his shoulder. “What would I do without ya?”

Castiel didn’t respond, just continued to smile in return before stumbling to his feet, moving over to the boxes that frequented the floor boards.

“What you doin’?” He heard Dean slur in his American drawl as he moved passed him.

“Helping” was his simple response as he grabbed at a book from the top of the box- he looked it over in his hands before it was quickly tipped out of them by a determined Dean Winchester.

“Cas…” Dean looked down at him with his eyebrows drawn together and lips pouted- clearly judging him. “You PAY me to do this kinda work- you don’t need to help.”

Castiel’s smile faulted slightly at Dean’s logic, his head subconsciously tilting to the side in a silent question. He saw Dean roll his eyes.

“I don’t mean anything by it, Cas. It’s just…” Dean huffed lightly, thinking briefly whether or not he wanted to share his thoughts before continuing “I’ve failed at every job I’ve ever had and I don’t want to feel like I’m failing this one…”

Cas opened his mouth to respond- to tell his friend that he couldn’t possibly fail- but then a wave of nausea was rushing into him, hitting him square in the chest and leaving his mind was whirring. His Dean, the Dean in front of him changed. He watched in confusion as the man’s clothes altered before his eyes- a dusty green jacket now dawning his shoulders and his plain shirt being swapped for one that was checker. And then everything was changing- the surroundings most significant of all. No longer were they in the hallway overlooking the garden but out in the open. A chain linked fence stood tall to his right and a metal structure stood behind him. The… The impala. Of course- how could he forget the Impala? “Look, I don’t need to feel like hell for failing you, okay?.”

Castiel stared up, squinting, as Dean suddenly barked words at him. “Dean, I-"  But then he’s being interrupted by the man before him- as if he hadn’t even began to speak- as if he wasn’t truly there.

“For failing you like every other god damn thing I care about!”

The harsh words catch him off guard and he immediately remembers them- this was when he had returned from purgatory- this… This was a memory. Something had trigged a memory.

As soon as it came it was gone- his vision snapped back into reality and he woke to find himself collapsed on the floor where he stood previously- Dean holding him desperately in his arms.

“Oh- thank god!” He heard a worried voice cry out as his senses came back to the present and then dean was letting out a sigh of relief and pulling him into a one sided hug. “what the hell happened?!”

“I…” Cas started, his voice croaky and muffled against Dean’s shoulder as he shakily reciprocated the half-hug. He paused for thought, trying to get his words out, but found that the images he saw so prominently before were now rapidly leaving his brain- being pushed aside and hidden away. He felt reluctant to try and find them again… they were something… something about Dean maybe? “I… … I felt like I had the strangest dream…”

Dean nodded his head in quick response- his main priority being his friend’s safety as he lifted him up with the purpose to carry him and informed him he was to taking him to bed.    

 


	2. Towards Lethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is still recovering from the recent trauma and Dean is lost on what to do. He visits the cook for help- but he only creates further mystery to what is plaguing his friend.  
> Cas goes missing. But not for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this second chapter! Oh golly, who'd have thunk it? I've actually written a second chapter with REAL story and plot!  
> If you see any spelling, grammar mistakes or missing words- please tell me and I will fix it. Constructive criticism is welcome and once again- thanks for clicking!  
> Also, thanks to Aiden for agreeing to read this shite.  
> Props to you, my friend. 
> 
> -Grief

Dean watched, aghast, as Castiel slipped easily back into unconsciousness. The only thing he could think to do was pull the thick, brown, woolen Whitney blanket up too Cas’ shoulders and tuck him in as tightly as he could. He didn’t look to be waking up any time soon.

Whatever happened to Cas- some sort of fit or something else- it sure drained a lot out of him. Not to mention the shit he’d been rambling during the episode. Dean couldn’t make any sense of it and it scared the hell out of him.

If he weren’t a heathen, then he would probably think Castiel had been possessed with the way he was convulsing and seizing on the floor. He had never seen anything like it.

It troubled Dean to no end, making him feel sick at the idea of something being seriously wrong with Cas. He is the nicest man he’d ever had the good fortune of meeting and didn’t deserve what was plaguing him- not even a fraction.

The headaches, nightmares, spacing out: this was stressing enough to see Castiel being dragged through but know this?! This was far more serious. The Doctors wouldn’t be able to blame neglective parents for this. That shit doesn’t reduce a man to having spasms on the floor.

Dean shook his head pitifully, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sounding sigh. He softly reached out a calloused hand towards Castiel, moving to push a hand through the dark mess of hair upon his head. He frowned as he rested his palm on Cas’ forehead- feeling that he didn’t seem to have temperature… In fact, he was cold. “Oh God… Cas, What do I do…?”

There was no response from the sleeping Castiel. He would not hear him. Dean let out a shaky breath, his hand sliding from Cas’ forehead and back to his own lap. To say that he was anxious would be an understatement.

He knew that he had to do SOMETHING. Call the doctor for a start. But despite telling himself this, Dean came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to phone a doctor. They had never done Cas any good before. Those bastards would come to Cas’ home, tell him that he was crazy and that he should have more faith in god. Then charge a frankly extortionate amount of money. And the worst thing was Castiel often believed them- Would think there was something wrong with himself. Cas is neither crazy nor ‘lacks faith’ and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be told so and then have to pay for the privilege.

Dean is stuck with the idea of just… waiting. Waiting until Cas wakes up and seeing what happens. Frankly, the thought barely sound more appealing then phoning a doctor. He slowly stood up from the edge of the bed, his knees creaking in complaint as he got to his feet. He couldn’t help but pause and watch Cas for a moment longer, checking if he was breathing right or if he was having a nightmare- Checking for anything really. Dean remembered that Cas had felt cold and made an effort to make sure Cas was tucked in as tight as possible as the other blankets were still packed in a box somewhere. As Dean backed away once more, he couldn’t help a frightening thought cross his brain. ‘What if Cas never woke up…’

It was stupid. Dean knew it was- the man has had a fit -he wasn’t stabbed, he’s not DYING… god … Please don’t be dying…

Oh fuck.

Dean didn’t know what the hell to do, he hated feeling so helpless in a situation. A wound he could stich up, a temperature he could bring down but this was too much for him. He stood still for a moment, picking at the skin at his knuckles as he thought of what his next move would be.

He needed to go and tell cook- that was for sure. He was the only other staff working at this hour and needed to know what had happened to the master of the house. He might even know something to do. Dean vaguely remembered bringing in a box labelled ‘medicine’ into the kitchen.

Reluctantly, Dean peeked once more at the sleeping figure on the large bed before turning and leaving the otherwise bare bedroom. Pulling the door to behind him. He began his march down to the kitchen but not before glancing back at the door a few times before finally turning the corner down the long wood panelled corridor.

The kitchen was by far the most organised room in the house. Pots and pans were already hung up on the racks and all plates and cutlery put away. A table with matching stools stood in the centre of the room and standing at said table, wearing a pink apron was a content looking Gabriel with flower in his hair and egg on his shirt. He appeared to be rolling out some sort of dough.

“You’ve been busy…” Dean exclaimed, turning a full circle to check out the new space, an expression close to awe on his face and issue at hand temporarily forgotten. There were no moving boxes left in sight.

Gabriel glanced behind himself, giving a smirk but not pausing his work on the table. “Ah, you know me Deano- I can get things sorted with the snap of my fingers.”

“Yeah… it sure seems like that sometimes…” Dean murmured in agreement, walking over to stand at the head of the table. Gabriel just grinned like there was some sort of joke that Dean wasn’t getting. But that just seemed to be the cook’s permanent expression and Dean was tired of asked what was funny.

A bowl of melted chocolate sat in a bowl on the table and Dean, despite himself, couldn’t help leaning over to dip a finger into the sticky mixture.

“HEY” A wooden spoon whacked the back of dean’s hand painfully, making the man retreat from the treat with a sulky look, rubbing his reddened hand. “What was that for?!” he asked his attacker.

“Not for you, Winchester.” Gabriel quipped, rolling his eyes and dipping his own finger into the chocolatey mix for a taste- much to dean’s distress. “Some of us actually have to work and don’t get by with just making kissy faces at Cassie”

Dean clenched his jaw, his annoyance coming through in his expression but he didn’t say anything. He’d decided over his years of working here that it was best to never try to challenge Gabriel- it only ends is more trouble. Why Cas kept the tricky, rude and often frankly delusional man on as part of his staff dean had no idea. Though… the guy was good for a drink and a chat some days… and he did make a mean pie.

Clearing his throat, dean cast away all the thoughts on confectionary and focused on the real issue here. The much more important one. “Actually”- Dean began, leaning on the table top with both hands. “That’s what I’m here to talk about.”

“You kissed Cas, huh?” Gabriel asked, sounding nonchalant as he pounded his piece of dough.

“What?!” A splutter spat from his mouth “No! I’m just saying this is _about_ Cas”. Dean didn’t fail to notice how defensive he must sound. In truth, He questions himself daily on what he thought about Cas and went that meant about him- he doesn’t need the fucking cook to start questioning him too.

“Yeah, alright kiddo- what is it?” was Gabriel’s only response, accompanied with another eye role.

“It’s Cas- And this serious.” Dean began “he was acting weird- weirder than usual, spacing out even more than usual- and then he got all wobbly and started rambling shit.”

“Then, he just sorta… Collapsed! Started having some kind of _fit_ on the floor. His body seemed to calm down after a while but he kept on muttering crap about purgatory? and me and failing…” Dean faded off from his description of events as he saw a flicker of horror cross over Gabriel face. The man had stopped working and was now slowly turning to face Dean. “…Gabriel… …?”

The small, bronze haired man schooled his features- letting the worried look leave his face to be hid behind a mask of calm. “Dean. Are you sure of what he said?”

“Wha- Gabriel, what’s happeni-”

“Dean. Are you sure?”

“yes!” Dean yawped with growing annoyance, throwing his hands up in the air “he said about purga-whatever and me. That’s what he said, I’m sure!”

Gabriel didn’t reply for a moment- he didn’t have some sort of witty response to snap nor did he have a smirk to wear on his face. These two things made Dean very, very nervous.

“Tell me what’s happening, please Gabriel- has this happened before?!” Dean pleaded, moving from the top of the table to stand in front of the cook. There was still no reply. “If this is something serious-“

Gabriel shook his head “It’s nothing serious, Winchester. You worry too much.” He finally spoke, his attempt to seem casual failing miserably. “You know Cassie has nightmares.”

Gabriel turned to presumably go back to prodding dough when Dean grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders, forcing him to stay facing him. “Gabriel. You have known Cas a lot longer than I have. If you know why he’s having fucking SEIZERS on the floor- you better god damn tell me.”

Gabriel stared Dean down, shoulders tense until finally his eyes rolled and he let out a sigh. “look-” he started, knocking Dean’s hands off of himself but making no move to back away. “I like you deano- and I know you ‘like’ Cas but there are some things you are not in the precision of knowing-“

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Bullshit- and you are? You’re the freaking Cook!”

“A doctor will come in the morning- not the one from the village- a different one. He’ll help Cas.” Gabriel snapped, turning away and finally getting back to his baking. “In the meantime, if you want to be even the slightest bit useful for once, I suggest going to check on Cas and making sure he’s not currently gargling on his own spit.”

For a long moment, Dean stayed standing defiantly where he was, staring Gabriel down. But, when it became clear that the man was done talking he could do little else but give a frustrated huff before going off and doing exactly as he was told.

“The fucking nerve of that guy…” Dean muttered to himself as he made his way back down the hallway, still currently filled with boxes. He glanced out of the window when he heard the wind howling outside. The now previously sunny, bright day had quickly be drowned with a thick coated darkness that made it almost impossible to make out the scenery. You almost couldn’t even see the tree’s being bent backwards by the force of the gust.

Fucking countryside, dark, wet, windy and shitty.

The windows rattled as Dean continued through the house, shutting every open window he came across as rain now began to pelt against the glass. Great. A chill crept through the house and Dean found himself wishing, not for the first time, that they had all just stayed in London- where people knew who they were, kept to themselves and it wasn’t so damn dark. He couldn’t help but be grumpy as he trudged down the hall.

Upon turning the corner onto the bedroom’s hallway, he stopped in his tracks. All previous thoughts and emotion were knocked out of him in one go, replaced only by the surprise he felt when he saw the master’s door open. “Cas?”

Dean quickened his pace a little, speed walking down the hall until he could peer into Cas’ room. Well, here is Cas’ bed, but no Cas. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t beginning to panic a little. Its fine- he probably just woke up and went to the toilet. “Cas… You round here?”

Dean couldn’t shake an awful feeling, deep in his gut. He told himself it was just the pitch dark looming through the windows but that didn’t stop him from breathing just that little bit harder. The sound of his breath was heavy in the unhealthy silence. This house is too damn big.

A loud and sudden slam echoed down the hall and Dean nearly jumped half his height. He spun to the right, staring down the empty hallway before putting his back against the wall. The feeling that he could be jumped at any moment overwhelming. Whatever it is, it’t coming from somewhere in the house.

And there it was again, a thumping sound- he could tell it was coming from upstairs. Looking up towards the ceiling, he waited for some sort of shout of ‘just dropped something’ or any kind of confirmation which would stop him from crapping his pants right now. He shouldn’t be so worked up right now. It’ll just be Cas walking around… But the feeling in his gut hinted otherwise.

“Castiel…?” he called out, purposely lowering his voice so that he sounded more threatening.

Again, it continued- sounding horribly like something or someone being hit hard against the walls. And again and again. Something was wrong. “CAS?”

Fighting instinct kicked in as Dean suddenly charged down the rest of the hallway, skidding on the shiny wooden floors as he came to a sudden stop at one of the grand staircases, near the front of the house. He paused only for a second to gather himself before scrambling up the flights of carpeted stairs towards the second story of the house, grabbing the railing to haul himself up faster. The slamming- still repeating itself in a demonic, rhythmic fashion was louder up here as was the wind- groaning its way through the houses foundations. “CAS, WHERE ARE YOU?”

As he reached the landing, Dean turned in a circle, trying desperately to locate where the sound was coming from. To the Left or the Right or… Above, it was coming from the attic. Dean spun on his heel, running left, past the top of the stair case and to the left-wing. And sure enough, at the end of the corridor was the long staircase up to the attic, the door leading to it wide open. Dean continued his bolt down the hallway until he stood at the bottom of the stairwell.

This staircase was much narrower and steeper than the other. It was dark and confined and the slamming echoed off the walls, towards Dean. A gush of icy cold wind flew down, ruffling Dean’s clothes and hair- bringing goose bumps to settle on his skin and a shiver to pass over him. Taking a quick gulp, Dean continued- his assent up the stairs much slower, much more careful then before.

“Cas?!” Dean rushed up the last few steps as he caught a glimpse of the man he had been looking for. The attic was large- spanning nearly the size of an entire floor. The whole place was a mess; Dark, Cobwebbed and shabby with large wooden beams holding up a creaking roof that was peeling paint. The attic was full of dusty, shadowed objects and stacked boxes that no doubt held a dozen forgotten memories- but towards the front of the house there was a massive, ample, arched window that stretched all the way up to the high ceiling. It was currently wide open, deadly wind rushing in and causing the open wooden window frames to slam violently and repeatedly against the walls. And there, at the centre of it all: Castiel- standing at the very edge of the open window, hands down by his sides. He sways at the force of the wind- threatening to tumble the long, long way down. His clothes are soaked through. Trousers, shirt and waistcoat clinging to his body and making him seem small.

His hair was blown wild in the wind along with the pale white, sheet curtains that still desperately clung to the rails- the sheets flapping uncontrollably around him mixed with the terrible, dim glow of the moon turned Castiel into a terrifying, ghostly sight.

“CAS?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Dean tried to shout above the howl of wind whipping through the attic. Slowly, Dean made his way closer to Castiel- not wanting to rush at him and cause an accident. “CASTIEL?”

Dean moved forwards, to the side of the window- his own hair and clothes now being blown and battered relentlessly, rain splattering down upon him. He looked up, fearfully at Cas who stood on the windowsill before him. Droplets streamed down Castiel’s face and he was squinting from the force of the wind but still, his eyes remained determined to stare out at the darkened skyline. Dean looked out, trying desperately to see what Cas could be seeing but, the tops of trees and small roofed houses of faraway neighbours were hardly even visible. But the moon? The Moon was unlike anything they had seen in London. It was large, bright and submittable. Staring back up at Cas, Dean studied his face… It was almost like he was locked in a trance- like he wasn’t really there.

“Cas…” His voice came out as little more than squeak as Dean reached up tentatively and grabbed a hold of Cas cold, wet hand, giving his arm a light tug.

At the light contact Castiel seemed to stir. His feet shuffling back slightly as he began blinking rapidly- like he was only _truly_ seeing right now. A shaky breath left the man as he turned his head and glanced to his side, seeing Dean. Only light confusion seemed to show on Cas’ face- as if it was no surprise to see where he was or that was Dean behind him. The only shock being how terrified his friend seemed.

“Cas- what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dean blurted out, his hand growing tighter round Cas’ as he began to ever so slowly pull him away, keeping his eyes on the positioning of Cas’ feet. “Come on, Step away from the-”

“Dean…”

He paused at the soft sound of his own name, glancing back up, wide eyed at Castiel, who was now looking back out to the horizon, wearing a tranquil expression on his face.

“Have you ever dreamt that you could fly?…”  


End file.
